Breaking the Wolf
The forest smelled of ash and blood. My blood.
I had survived the night, but survival had left me hollow. My arms trembled as I dragged myself back to Lucien’s cave, my body a map of wounds. Yet even in exhaustion, the shadows still whispered under my skin, restless, alive.
Lucien was waiting. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, silver hair gleaming faintly in the dawn light. His coal-dark eyes swept over me, unreadable.
“You lived,” he said softly. “Good. Now we see if you can do more than cling to life.”
I dropped to my knees, chest heaving. “I need rest.”
He stepped forward, crouching, so his face was inches from mine. “Rest is for the dead. You asked me to make you stronger. Did you think strength came without cost?”
My jaw tightened. “I’ll pay for
